The Blood of The Covenant
by Carmenian
Summary: A girl who is supposedly the product of Mr Bates' first marriage appears at the back door of the Abbey following the Bates' reconciliation after the attack on Anna. Sadly, Downton Abbey is a fiction which belongs to Mr Julian Fellowes
1. Chapter 1

Mrs Hughes walked briskly down the corridor, it was mid-morning and the air outside had a crisp November nip to it. Inside, however, was filled with the usually bustle of activity that was day-to-day life beyond the green baize door. She passed the servant's hall, from which Thomas was emerging, looking smug, the kitchen, where Mrs Patmore was giving a sullen Daisy an incredulous talking-to, her own sitting room, mercifully quiet, she would enjoy having her tea in there later, and Mr Carson's office, where he was balancing accounts. There was no doubt about it, this was a demanding job, she often felt like the shepherd of a bunch of wayward lambs, distressed ewes and secretive rams, as well as more than one wolf in sheep's clothing. Then, of course, were those with whom she had worked smoothly for several years; firm and regal Mr Carson, her long time comrade-in-arms, blunt but effective Mrs Patmore, her friend of fifteen years, poor darling Anna, who she privately liked to think of as a cherished daughter, dear sweet Daisy, who had grown and learned so much since she had first arrived as a baby-faced and bewildered young girl, and of course devoted Mr Bates. This thought brought a furrow to her brow. Yes, she was very much… concerned… about the Bateses. She most definitely wished that she was more sure of Mr Bates' good judgment.

She had reached the door at the end of the hall. The bell rang again. "I'm coming, I'm coming" she murmured. Mrs Hughes opened the door. In rushed an eager gust of fresh and wintry air, which swirled around her as if not quite sure if it wanted to go all the way inside, into the cacophony of voices, feet, pans and all other manners of downstairs essentials. Mrs Hughes took a deep breath and examined the young girl who stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"How may I help you?" she asked, in her slight Scottish lilt. She noted that this girl was not so much _awkwardly _occupying the threshold as shifting nervously from foot to foot as if cautiously excited, although about what she couldn't begin to tell.

"It has come to my attention that you have a certain Mr John Bates in your employ?" The girl was thin, no older than fifteen. She had a pale, inquisitive face with traditionally handsome features; clear skin, large blue-gray eyes, a small pink mouth, reasonably high cheekbones and a good nose. She wore hair of an indistinguishable colour in a careful bun which was tucked under a neat felt hat. Her coat was of a pleasant burgundy colour which went well with her gray hat. This youngster appeared to have made quite an effort to look exceptionally tidy and, Mrs Hughes noticed, was twisting her white-gloved hands together in what seemed to be a very anxious way.

"We do, although I can't think of why it may concern you, dear." Mrs Hughes said hesitantly. Mr Bates had had quite enough problematic visitors for her liking, and the poor man had only just seemed to have gotten past wicked Mr. Green's attack on his precious Anna. Still, this girl could not be involved with the police.

"Oh, I'm so awfully sorry, I haven't introduced myself;" the girl laughed quickly. "I'm Sallie, you see, Sallie Bates."


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs Hughes thought the girl looked almost apologetic at this, the way her voice trailed off and her eye contact slipped uncomfortably as she finished.

"Oh dear, I see, perhaps you'd best come inside." Mrs Hughes could think of nothing else to do with this supposed Sallie Bates. So she steered the girl into her sitting room and called for Daisy to bring them some tea. Mrs Hughes bustled about the sitting room while they waited, gathering her thoughts. Sallie, she supposed, sat at the table in uncomfortable silence with a look on her face alike to that of a scolded spaniel puppy.

"Who's this?" Daisy asked as she set the tray down. "No one to concern yourself about!" Mrs Hughes answered sternly before reminding the assistant cook authoritatively to close the door as she left.

With nothing more with which to occupy herself, Mrs Hughes sat down across from this newcomer and said "Well, Miss Sallie Bates, I think it best that you tell me your story, please, do be succinct but be sure to omit no detail." The girl nodded curtly and replied "Yes, of course, ma'am, I will try."

Here is the story that Sallie Bates told:

"I grew up in an Abbey, not like this one, of course, it was occupied by nuns and by children. Orphans and foundlings, mostly. I had been left there when barely a day old, the Mother Superior was not sure that I would survive, I was put into the special care of Sister Marianne. She was very young at the time, and very fanciful. She gave me the name of Ophelia Salasie Edwards for she felt that there was no name more beautiful and she made a career of doting on me. The name had stuck by the time the more senior nuns had heard of it and they had told Sister Marianne that she could name me but they prefered to call me Sallie for they thought it more conventional. Sister Marianne was like a mother to me for she was very young and not allowed to adopt me herself, although she did try. She would often tell me "Sparrow, if I could have you for my own, you would have been mine from the very beginning."

"Sister Marianne died of the Spanish Flu when I was eleven and after that the Mother Superior thought it best to give me extra schooling to try and control my grieving. It didn't help much for my grief but I would not have had it any other way, Sister Marianne was the closest thing to family that I had ever had, I would not have forgotten her so easily. Either way, I did get a good education and a kind home for nearly the entirety of my life so far. I have learned enough to qualify for a teaching position at a school, a governess even.

"Anyway, it was very recently that I received a letter. It was quite distressing at first and I did not know quite what to make of it. It was from a woman who claimed to be my mother, a Mrs Vera Bates. She left it in her will, saying that she had left a newborn girl-child on the steps of St. Carmen's Abbey on the night of October 24th, 1909 and that the letter was to be given to the child who fit this description. It took a long time for this letter to be processed and it finally reached me a year ago. It explained how at the time of my birth… " Here Sallie trailed off, as if hesitant to give delicate information. Then it clicked, _1909_. Mrs Hughes said "If you are nervous about giving us information pertaining to Mr Bates and his... unfortunate past, he has already been quite honest with us, you must not let this impede your story." The girl still seemed unconviced "Go on." Mrs Hughes prompted, and Sallie hesitantly resumed her tale.

"At the time of my birth… my father, this Mr. John Bates… had been in prison for petty theft for seven months. She explained that she did not wish such shame upon an innocent babe and had therefore left me to the kind and generous nuns, whom she knew would take good care of me. The letter said that she had wished to contact me previously but that she had not known how and had therefore left this in her will. She believed that I should know the truth of my beginnings. This letter has since led me to Mr Bates, and therefore here, to Downton Abbey. I am his daughter." She finished, as if this were some great accomplishment. Then she beamed up at Mrs Hughes, "Please, please may I speak with him? I only have the day's leave from the Abbey and I must still catch the train back to London."

Mrs Hughes considered this story carefully as she gazed upon the pleading face of this young girl. Vera Bates, how she detested the name, Mr Bates would have no desire to hear it brought up again.

"When did you say this letter was dated?" she asked the girl.

"It was the ninth of November, 1918." Sallie looked surprised but answered immediately, it was clear that she had memorized every word of this letter, the only proof that she belonged to the world outside this St Carmen's Abbey of hers. Mrs Hughes sighed, looking at her. November ninth, of course. This letter had been written the day before Vera Bates' suicide, it must have been a final attempt to ensured that she would drive a wedge between Mr Bates and Anna even in death. Sending this daughter, just in case Mr Bates managed to be proven innocent. Mrs Hughes shuddered. Of course, none of this was poor Sallie's fault, she supposed.

"Very well, I shall go in and see if Mr Bates is busy, I can make no promises but I do think that he should hear this from you."

"Do you? Oh, dear Mrs Hughes, it does mean an awful, awful lot. Thank you." Mrs Hughes sighed as she closed Mr Bates' supposed daughter in her sitting room and went in search of her poor father. She did so hate to be the bearer of troublesome news.


	3. Chapter 3

Mr Bates was at the table in the servants' hall with Anna. Oh dear, thought Mrs Hughes, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. They were sitting together, mending things of his Lordship's and Lady Mary's respectively, and though they did not speak loudly, nor fill the time with unbroken conversation, Mrs Hughes could tell that they were both very happy to just be together again. How she cursed Vera Bates for infiltrating even this far into their lives, even once hers had been so mercifully ended. Vera Bates and Mr Green, the two most despicable creatures she had ever known to crawl this green earth and both had reached for this couple with their wicked fingers and clawed deep gouges in their relationship, gouges that they had miraculously healed and worked past and now this. Well, there was nothing to be done. "Mr Bates, might I have a word?"

"Why, of course, Mrs Hughes" but she could tell that he was reluctant to leave and that it pained his wife that he must do so. He waited until they were in the hallway to ask "Well, what is it?"

"I'm afraid it seems you have a visitor." Mrs Hughes replied, and ushered him into her sitting room.

"Good day, and who might you be?" Mr Bates asked presently.

Sallie opened her mouth to speak but Mrs Hughes cut her off. "Mr Bates, may I present to you Miss Ophelia Salasie _Edwards_, she has quite the tale for you." Then more quietly to Mr Bates "I must not stay if you do not wish me to but I strongly urge you to listen to her whole story and remember that as hateful as that woman was, _I am but for the grace of God._"

Mr Bates had a sinking feeling in his stomach as Mrs Hughes said these final words and turned back to look at this Miss Edwards. She was extremely young and looked very slightly familiar though he was sure that he had never seen her before. This was no ordinary visitor, then, and yet she was not here to arrest or threaten him (hopefully) and so she was doing pretty well as far as his visitors went. He sat down in the armchair as Mrs Hughes closed the door and wondered briefly whether he should call for Anna but if Mrs Hughes had not, he was sure there must be a reason. "Miss Edwards, how might I help you?" he asked pleasantly.

"Oh Mr Bates, it is so good to finally meet you! Please, don't call me 'Miss Edwards' I have been many names but that was seldom one that came with good things. I would much prefer for you to call me Sallie, Lassie or Ophelia, or if you would prefer, we may absolutely stick to Miss Edwards and it will become my favourite of them all!" The girl was very agitated, he could see, but she seemed quite sane and it appeared to be mostly a mixture of nerves and excitement. He did not quite know what to make of her.

"Well, let's go with Sallie, why don't we? I always liked the name." At this the girl beamed, as if she had somehow earned this name for the unique purpose of pleasing him. How strange. "So, Sallie, what brings you here?"

It was thus that Miss Ophelia Salasie Edwards first met her father; in the sitting room of a housekeeper in a grand country house where she had never previously set foot. It was thus that Mr John Bates first met his daughter; in the place where he had found friends, happiness and most importantly, love. This unknown girl having never met the woman who had sent her there. This tired man wanting only to forget the pain of the past and move on with his beloved. This is the beginning and also, it begins an end.


	4. Chapter 4

Mr Bates was still quite stunned as he held Anna's coat up for her to slip her arms into. In a way he felt sorry for this poor Sallie, alone as she was in the world. He had been lucky, exceptionally lucky, to have such a warm and loving family for the length of his boyhood.

He had married Vera in 1904, when they were both twenty. She had been living in the slums outside of London and he, having returned from the Boer War only two years previously, had pitied her. It was not long after their marriage that he knew he had made a mistake. The next two years had passed easily enough, what with him being overseas with the army more often than not and while she did not love him, nor was she unfaithful during this time. Once the shrapnel left in his knee from the war began to impede his proficiency he was sent back to London to work at the base there. Over the course of the following year, Vera had often been paid to help with the cleaning and cooking when there were high-ranking visitors and between these rare occasions she had managed to steal enough of the regiment's silver for the thievery to have been noticed and she had been arrested. Mr Bates had indeed felt responsible for her unhappiness on account of his marrying her when neither one loved the other and had confessed to his wife's crimes. He had gone to jail for two years.

Yes, he supposed that it was _possible _that this girl was his. Finding himself caught in a loveless marriage and losing the effective use of his leg at the young age of 22, he had spent more and more time in public houses. In all honesty he had been trying to avoid Vera but on more than one occasion he had come home drunk and either been seduced or drunkenly decided that it would be an excellent time to make use of his marital rights. This child said that she had been born on the 24th of October, 1909. Supposing this was true, Vera would have been two months pregnant at the time of his conviction, she may not yet have known. It wasn't as if she had ever visited him during his time in prison, not like Anna. Oh Anna, his darling, treasured Anna, how could possibly put her through this after all she had already been through? He had failed to protect her from Green and now, just as they may be finally ready for a family of their own, he would have to present her with this adolescent who was half Vera. He couldn't, wouldn't do it. He looked down at Anna now, she was humming softly as they walked, her slight, gloved hands plucking at the sleeve on his arm, which was wrapped protectively around her. She looked up to meet his gaze.

"Quite pensive tonight, aren't we? I would offer a penny for your thoughts but I do say these must be worth a great deal more; you have not said a word since we left the Abbey and - look - we're almost home!" He looked up and indeed, their little cottage was now visible from the gaps in the shrubbery.

"Well, my love, as you've often said yourself: your husband is a brooder, and brooders brood."

"I do wish that you wouldn't worry so much. Really, Mr Bates, you'll give yourself an ulcer! - and what am I to do then, pray tell, as the wife of an _invalid_ brooder?"

"I'm sure that it won't come to that" he smiled down at her and patted her hand through the dark leather of both of their gloves. Realizing how cold it would be in their cottage, them not having been there since very early that morning, he made a mental note to pick some fine dry logs from the pile by the house. It may also be a good idea to pile some extra blankets on their bed tonight, there was a new quilt that looked quite cosy and he had never been comfortable with having a fire burning in their room over night. If something were to go wrong he would not be able to bring Anna to safety with his leg the way it was.

Mr Bates gave Anna a gentle squeeze before reluctantly unwinding his arm from her waist to unlock the door.

No, there was no way that he could jeopardize all this with a reminder of troubles past, especially when he didn't even know for sure whether this girl was _any _relation of his, let alone his daughter. Still, he did feel awfully sorry for her. The moment they were done their chat, Mrs Hughes had promptly ushered this Sallie down the hall and out the door, making sure that no one took particular notice of the foreign girl in their midst. Sallie had been so happy just to meet him. She must have spent at the entirety of her train trip imagining how the meeting might play out, and probably a great deal of time previous to that imagining what life would be like when - if - she ever managed to find her family. Then getting this letter, coming here. The woman she thought to be her mother was dead and the man this woman had claimed was her father was shocked, instead of pleased, to meet her. The poor child must have such high hopes for them not to have been dashed at this encounter, although, he supposed, he had been cautious to say nothing about how miserable his first marriage had been and how he had come to loathe the very thought of his first wife.

She must think that now he would come and adopt her, she knew nothing of Anna and his new, blissful (though admittedly besieged) marriage. She must think that he would be thrilled to have a reminder of the woman he had first married. Poor, unsuspecting child. Mrs Hughes had been right; I am but for the grace of God. Had she not said that he may have held resentment for this girl but of course, she had never known Vera, had never even met her and had certainly not chosen to be born to that despicable woman.

Of course, this was exactly what Vera had hoped to accomplish in sending the letter. Just in case he did not hang for the crime which she had framed him for, then this girl would arrive at Downton, or the prison, he supposed, and unwittingly overturn his new life. This child may not be hers, even, but just an orphan whose story she had come to know and which fit the plot she had devised for the most possible destruction.

Sallie had given him an address and a telephone number so that he might contact her once he had processed this information. The envelope with that and a letter explaining all the she had already told him as well as one from the Mother Superior regarding the circumstances under which she had been found. All this she had written, Sallie had explained, so that she might leave it with the housekeeper if he had been unavailable. When she had passed it to him he had seen that it was high quality card stock, the nice, solid envelope the meant both class and caliber. On the face he could see 'Mr John Bates' laboriously scripted, as if she had savoured each letter of his name. The handwriting was meticulous, presumably she had practiced the same few words over and over again to make sure that they were perfect before slowly and deliberately writing them onto the expensive envelope.

She certainly seemed to be a bright and pleasant girl and if she were indeed his daughter he would need to do _something _to help her along. Yet how could he do this without telling Anna _and_ without lying to her? - and either way, how could it even be proved that this girl was his? Once, when at the hospital for his knee acting up, he had overheard Mrs Crawley talking to Dr Clarkson about a new blood test that could determine parentage, but that had been several years ago and he had not gotten details. Perhaps he could make some inquiries? Even then, how could he convince a girl he had met all of one time to allow herself to be pricked to prove that he was her father? Ah well, Mr Bates sighed, there wasn't any harm in asking if such a test even existed, after all, what else could he do?


	5. Chapter 5

Mr Bates had been unusually quiet of late but Anna wasn't terribly worried. He was doing much better now that they had reconciled, which was a blessing in and unto itself. He was still very cautious with her, very gentle, but this new thoughtfulness was different, it was about something else. It was as if he had to make a difficult decision before he could come to her with whatever it was. Anna knew that it concerned her by the way he smiled with his eyes when she talked, the way, when their conversations were interrupted by the chime of a bell, he would watch her go. Not in his usual, disbelieving way but with an… undecided manner. Of course Anna was apprehensive about what this undecidedness may concern but she was more than equally confident that her husband would not risk everything that they had worked so hard to achieve. Anna trusted with everything in her that this was unrelated to...to Mr Green. No, if it were Mr Bates would not have this calm nervousness about him but instead a jumpy, barely contained rage. This was separate and, as such, Anna would leave it until he was ready to tell her.

She was sitting at the long table in the servants' hall, one of Lady Mary's riding hats in her lap. This particular hat was quite grand and had developed a small tear in the mesh veil. Fixing it was delicate work but not at all beyond Anna's skill. Across from her was Miss Baxter with her sewing machine. Jimmy sat stewing at the end of the table, the entirety of the family's third best set of cutlery laid out before him. He had been unkind to Alfred that morning just as Mr Carson had walked by the servants' hall and was now paying the penalty. "You know it would pass a lot more quickly if you weren't such a baby about it." she offered, chidingly. Jimmy just grumbled and resumed his mournful polishing.

"How about you, Miss Baxter? Have you made much progress on Her Ladyship's gown?"

"Yes, thank you, it's coming along quite nicely, although I daresay I can't imagine how long it would have taken me had I not had my machine." the elder lady's maid replied softly "You do know that I'd be quite happy to show you how to use it, should you ever want to learn?" At this Anna laughed contentedly, "I do, and I thank you very much for your kind offer."

"You'll still have nothing of it, then?

"I think not, at least for now. Besides, I'm not entirely sure how useful it would be for most of the little fix-me-ups that Lady Mary's things need, she rarely wears dresses often enough for them to be torn so it's really mostly just this kind of thing." She nodded towards the riding hat that was still placed gently in her lap, her thin and dexterous fingers gingerly stitching up the veil.

"Anna?" Anna turned around, smiling, at the sound of Mrs Hughes' voice. Its owner stood in the doorway, looking slightly ill at ease. "Yes?"

"I was wondering if I might borrow you for a moment." Mrs Hughes' eyes flickered quickly to Miss Baxter's composed face and back to Anna's pretty one. The way that Her Ladyship's maid listened so silently and intently to anything to do with the Bateses unsettled the housekeeper but she dismissed the thought for now. There were more important questions to be answered.

"Yes, of course. I was just finishing Lady Mary's mending anyways. There." she tied a neat knot and slid her thumb carefully over her tiny, perfect stitches. They were next to invisible, Lady Mary would never notice them.

With a satisfied sigh she stood up and followed Mrs Hughes out of the servants' hall and into the corridor, unaware of Miss Baxter's eyes on her slim back as she left the room.

"Mrs Hughes led Anna to her private sitting room where a tray was already waiting for them on the small table. Mrs Hughes motioned for Anna to sit and, after relieving her of her burden, began to serve them tea.

"Well, I feel quite special!" Anna remarked as the older woman passed her a cup. Mrs Hughes smiled and raised her eyebrows in a way that let Anna know instantly that this visit had more to it that chitchat.

"Because of this, Anna was caught by surprise when Mrs Hughes sat down and looked at her expectantly. She wracked her brain, thinking of some reason why she may have been called here but she could think of none. "Mrs Hughes?" she asked after a moment of anticipative silence.

"He hadn't told her! Mrs Hughes could see it in her eyes! Anna was oblivious to the unpredicted visitor of two weeks past. She would have thought that Mr Bates would have told his wife by now. Anna would surely not blame him for a child he had not known existed. Now Anna was staring at her in confusion, oh what to say?!

"Can I not ask you to join me for tea without having some ulterior motive?" She tried to sound incredulous.

"You never have before!" Anna could not understand what was going on, then it clicked.

"Oh!" Putting down her cup, she prepared to challenge Mrs Hughes directly. "You're in cahoots with Mr Bates, now, aren't you?!"

"Lord, of course Anna would have to go and guess, and correctly, for that matter. "I can't say I know what you mean by that! - and besides, would you not like to join me for tea? You don't see me going cavorting with the other maids, I thought it might be a nice treat."

Anna would not be put off "I know what this is! You're trying to see how much I know about something! What is it?! Come, Mrs Hughes, oh please, won't you tell me?"

"Anna!" Well, the girl was too smart, she'd have to drop the act now that she had been seen through. "If you're allowed to keep secrets, why not Mr Bates?"

'Anna had taken a sharp breath that Mrs Hughes only noticed because it was not followed by speech. She closed her mouth, then opened it again, as if to try and speak but no words came out and she had to try again. "You- you know perfectly well why I had to keep the secret that you are referring to." She took a deep breath "That's not what this is about, is it? He's not mad at me? Surely, he said-"

"NO- _no_, dear. Oh, no, look what I've done." She reached out to touch Anna's face, which was now quite white, with the backs of her fingers. "Oh, come," standing up, she went around the little table to gather up the young lady's maid into an embrace. Anna choked back a few dry sobs into her shoulder. "Oh, hush" she said, lovingly stroking Anna's hair "shh, it's alright, I know, I know." She shifted Anna gently and then pulled her away to examine her face. Anna took the opportunity to snatch her handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and, turning her face humiliatedly, bury it in the clean, fresh cotton.

"I'm sorry," Mrs Hughes said, "that was an awful thing to say, truly, I'm very, very sorry."

"No, no, you're right. I'm not one to judge when there are secrets involved." Anna sniffed.

"It's not bad, I swear, you'll just need to be patient, Mr Bates will tell you all in due time." but her eyes betrayed her uncertainty. Anna could tell that her husband's secret was not nearly as trivial as Mrs Hughes would have her believe.


	6. Chapter 6

Mr Bates was brooding.

Anna had seemed off this evening, out of sorts. She had been distracted as they walked home from the Abbey and even though it had been relatively early, she had wanted to go to bed very soon after their arrival. Sleep bed. He, of course, had obliged her, as he always would and had put together some tea while she went upstairs to undress. When she hadn't home down after a few minutes he had heedfully carried her teacup upstairs to their bedroom, where had had found her sitting on her side of the bed, her toothbrush moving more and more quickly and with increasingly jerky, agitated movements. She had seemed startled when he had gently called her name as he approached to place the cup and saucer on her nightstand and had shrugged off her strange behavior, claiming to be tired.

Once he had changed into his nightshirt and brushed his own teeth he returned to the bedroom to find her propped uncomfortably on the pillows on her side of the bed. Her gaze was unfocused and her brow slightly furrowed. The tea still stood untouched and now lukewarm on the nightstand.

"Anna, darling, are you quite alright?" he had asked. Anna had looked up at the sound of his voice, smiled unsteadily and assured him that yes, everything was fine. Her response had unsettled him, the way her mouth had smiled but her eyes had remained unusually wide and fixed scrutinizingly on his face.

At least she had been alright when he had crawled into bed. She had scooched down further into the covers and, shifting briefly to find the perfect position, had lain her head sweetly in the hollow of his shoulder. She had tucked in her elbows, in a way that he found most endearing, so that her hands curled up under her chin and she had snuggled into his chest when he had reached his arm around to hold her. Everything had appeared normal except that he was sure he had felt her eyelashes twitch against his chest several minutes after she had stopped moving with what he had assumed to be well-deserved sleep.

Now he lay quite still, listening to the peaceful breaths of his sleeping love, her slight form warm against him, and deliberating against himself in the dark

It had been two weeks since Sallie had first arrived at Downton to introduce herself to the man she was so sure was her father. Two weeks.

Within that time he had sent a letter to a London doctor who he known as a soldier in His Majesty's Army asking about the blood test. Doctor Harlow had replied as soon as he had received the letter but that had taken several days and it had taken four more for his response to arrive. His letter had explained that there were differents types of blood and that these were hereditary, meaning that if he could supply samples of a parent and possible child's blood then he could examine them with a microscope and determine if the child's blood type matches the blood types that could be derived from the parent's. He had also warned Mr Bates that these tests were often inconclusive, especially with no sample from the mother. The good news was that since this procedure was still in development, he could take the samples as practice and therefore the test would be free of charge. In addition, Mr Bates knew for a fact that Doctor Harlow's very practice had been the one to do the toxicology report for Vera's autopsy so there would be a file somewhere listing her bloodtype.

It was the decision that had taken the second week, a decision that he had still not made his mind up on. What would he tell Anna? Would he tell her anything at all? How could he keep this from her after all that she had been through? - and yet how could he burden her with this, especially after all that? As painful as it would be for her to have to be reminded of Vera, he knew that she would take it much worse -and very rightly so - if she had to do her own digging. Besides, they had agreed to no more lies and no more secrets. There was no way that he would break that promise.

Then there was the question of Sallie. He had thought of her often since she had arrived. In fact, she had scarcely been out of his thoughts, second only to Anna. Sallie did not look anything like Vera, whose colouring had been very dark, facial structure harsh and irises a ghostly pale, malignant green. The girl did not look terribly like himself, either. He saw none of his rounded face in her, none of his smoke brown eyes. Her mouth, though small like his own, was not sealed with similarly thin lips and the brief glimpse he had caught of her scrupulously furled bun had revealed a colour more closely akin to the soft mouse-brown underside of Anna's hair than either his own or his previous wife's. An ashy shade of tarnished bronze, a glossy pecan.

Yes, it was a dilemma. What to do with Sallie? If she proved to be his, particularly after his having asked for the test, he would have to help her out somehow, yet if she proved unrelated there was no way that he could just send her back to her Abbey. That would be far too unfeeling. She had proudly related to him that she was on her way to becoming a governess or schoolteacher, perhaps he could search his mind for old acquaintances that may be able to get her a foot in the door, maybe even going so far as to recommend her as governess to Miss Sybbie and Master George when the time came. He could go to Lord Grantham, or, all else failing, Mrs Crawley. It would not be necessary for him to describe the nature of their relationship…Only then he would have to tell Anna for he could not bear to lie to her, especially if it were a lie that he must live every day.

He looked once again upon his sleeping wife. Anna was curled into him with her face buried in his chest, her body turned in so that she was not quite lying on her front but rather slanted. He could feel her lungs expand and then contract with each breath, which he also felt through his nightshirt where her mouth and nose were tucked into his diaphragm. She looked almost childlike (although still very beautiful) in sleep, her face relaxed, her bright eyes hidden beneath their creamy lids, her golden hair splayed across her shoulders, her back, her delicate throat. One particular strand insisted on curving across her face from her temple to her lips in a silkily radiant crescent and fluttered like a disturbed hen, up and down, with every exhale. He thought that it must be bothersome to her, ticking her face so, but he hadn't the heart to move it because Anna was just so perfect.

There. There it was, of course. He would not have Anna worry but instead go up to London and meet Sallie there for the test. Then, when the results were mailed to him, he would tell Anna everything. That way, when she would get the news it would be complete and she would not need to anxiously await the arrival of the conclusions. There, minimum possible damage. He could even travel to London during her upcoming trip to the same city with Lady Mary, he would go separately, of course, no need to worry her by sneaking about, well, not when she knew of it.

Mr Bates sighed. He squeezed Anna gently and then settled down further into the bed. His mind was made up, the die was cast and come what may, for he would deal with it when it did. He rested his chin gently on the top of his wife's head and hoped to God that everything would turn out fine./span/p


End file.
